


Ironman the Hipster

by Momentsofbeing



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Canon Disabled Character, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Coffee Shops, M/M, Mute Bucky Barnes, Past Torture, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shy Bucky Barnes, Shy Steve Rogers, Sign Language, Size Kink, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, and steve is Into It, bless them, i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24321040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momentsofbeing/pseuds/Momentsofbeing
Summary: James Barnes (formerly known as Bucky) works in the cafe his friend Natasha owns. It's taken him a long time to recover after his service in the army and he's just glad to have a peaceful job. He was captured and tortured by HYDRA for two years while they tried to turn him into their perfect assassin, but he managed to escape.He still feels nothing like his former self but he's slowly recovering, and things are pretty normal, until Captain America and Ironman come in for coffee.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 16
Kudos: 221





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I know almost nothing about America, sign language or how to write a good fic. 
> 
> I'll flag up any trigger warnings when they're needed in later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vomiting (brief mention)

James wiped his hands on his apron in annoyance. It was only ten in the morning and so far his day was going terribly. He had woken that morning at 3am to find himself shaking, tears running down his cheeks and his body covered in scratches and bruises from where he must have grabbed himself with his metal hand in his sleep. He couldn’t remember his nightmare, thankfully, but he couldn’t shake the panic as he lay there panting. Suddenly his stomach lurched and he raced to the bathroom where he promptly threw up in the toilet, vaguely trying to keep his hair out of the way, but to no avail.

Once it had passed, he rinsed out his mouth and glanced at himself in the mirror. Dark circles, face sweaty, hair hanging limp and red marks all over his bare chest and arm. Jesus. He looked terrible.

One of his more pushy co-workers had recently started trying to probe him about his love life, taking no notice of his reluctance to discuss the subject. Or anything, really. Clint was a nice guy, and James trusted him, but he had decided that the best way to deal with a lot of James’s issues was to just push through them. He wasn’t necessarily wrong about that, but it didn’t mean James was going to make it easy for either of them. The first time Clint had asked what his type was, James had given him such a frosty glare that Clint had looked genuinely alarmed for a moment. Their colleagues had found it hilarious - Clint was usually so cool and unruffled - and Natasha hadn't stopped teasing him for it ever since. However none of this had stopped Clint from continuing to quiz James every time they had a shift together. His interrogation methods ranged from a casual “describe your dream-date, Jamesy” to a more blunt “so lets get real, when did you last get laid”.

James had not answered any of Clint's questions vocally, choosing to respond instead with what had been widely christened his ‘murder glare’, although he had to admit he sometimes found his lips twitching in amusement at the questions.

It was better for everyone if he wasn’t honest about his love life. If he wanted to explain why he didn’t date, he would have to explain a lot of other things that he didn’t want to talk about. That he found it hard enough to get up five days a week and go to work, let alone go on a date with someone. That even though he’d got a lot of attention back in the day, he didn’t see how anyone would ever find him attractive now considering he was missing an arm, covered in scars and looked permanently exhausted. That he didn’t know how to flirt anymore, let alone ask someone out, and he wouldn’t know how to function on a date and he definitely didn’t know if he could have sex with someone.

That he’d been tortured for two years and highly doubted that he’d ever fully recover.

This had all come back to him as he stood in front of the mirror and he pulled himself away from his reflection in shame. Staggering back to bed, he fell back to sleep but it seemed like just a few moments before his alarm rang. It was 5.30am and time to get up for his shift. He felt groggy. A familiar fog of despair and fatigue was lingering at the edges of his mind and it wasn’t until he noticed that he had sick in his hair that he was able to force himself up and into the shower. Washing his hair was a challenge, as his metal arm wasn't working as well as usual. It had been resetting and whirring a lot recently and had even seized up and stopped working a few times, which was really quite worrying, but there was nothing he could do except hope it didn’t break.

After pulling on a pair of jeans he realised in a panic that all of his long-sleeved tops were dirty and he would have to wear a t-shirt. That meant a whole day of people staring at his metal arm even more than usual. Great. He yanked a black t-shirt on, angry with himself that he hadn't done laundry. When he glanced in the mirror he realised that it also revealed the sore red scratches on his flesh arm. Perhaps if he was lucky people would assume he had been attacked by an angry cat.

Once he got to work his day got even worse. As he poured himself a filter coffee Natasha, his manager, eyed the scratches and then James with concern.

“Are you alright, James?” she asked. After a reluctant pause he mumbled, “yeah, just tired” but from the look she gave him she clearly didn’t believe him, especially because he wasn’t speaking much. When he had started at the café just over a year ago he had still struggled with days where he couldn’t speak aloud and could only communicate in sign language with Natasha and Clint, but he rarely got days that bad anymore.

He had been insanely lucky to get the job back then, lucky that two of his colleagues knew ASL and lucky that he’d been allowed to just work in the kitchen and not have to deal with customers. Lucky that Natasha had been understanding about his limitations and asked less of him on the days when he couldn't stop jumping at every noise and zoning out. Lucky that he could take sick days when things got too bad for him to even get out of bed.

He still spent most of his time out back in the kitchen but today Clint was off on holiday and their other colleague called in sick just when the morning rush started, so James had to jump on the coffee machine. Natasha shot him an apologetic look and asked if he was going to be okay. He felt like shit but he knew he could do it - and it wasn’t like he could handle taking over from Natasha on the till - so he signed back _yeah I’ve got it._

He wasn’t the best at making coffee – his metal hand made it awkward to hold the milk jug without heating his hand up as well and he had to use his other hand to check the temperature - but he could just about manage. The more stressful aspect was having to call out people’s names when their coffees were ready, but he got through it by not looking at anyone, just barking the name and then hiding back behind the coffee machine.

The rush was just beginning to die down when the two men walked in.

James became aware of a stir in the café, a sudden buzz of noise and interest and he glanced round the coffee machine in time to see two men who joined the back of the small queue. One was relatively short with dark hair, sunglasses and a fancy suit, but he was talking in a loud, entitled voice to his companion. The man beside him was big, at least as big as James, and was dressed casually in jeans and a white t-shirt which strained across his massive, muscular chest. He had blond hair and a strong jaw and James was shocked and mildly horrified by the recognition of who they were. Suddenly the bigger blond guy looked straight up at the counter and caught James’s eye. Quickly James let his hair drop around his face and pulled back behind the coffee machine, but not before the blond guy had _smiled_ at him. Oh god. James ignored them, continuing to make coffee and ignoring Natasha’s frantic signing at him. The coffees he made during the time it took the two men to get to the front of the queue were probably the worst he had ever made. Fortunately the people waiting were completely distracted by the fact that Ironman and Captain America were queuing for coffee.

They looked completely out of place. Although it was actually pretty spacious the cafe had a cosy feel, with bookshelves and mismatched furniture everywhere. It was mostly populated by students and locals. The staff prided themselves on the cafe being open and accessible - several members of staff knew ASL, the music was always kept low to minimise background noise, the counter was lower than usual - so had acquired something of a following amongst the hard of hearing and disabled community. Lots of groups congregated there, including an informal veterans meeting group which Natasha been blunt in suggesting that James should consider going to.

It felt more like a community hub than a cafe in a lot of ways and most of the customers knew each other. Even the businessmen who came in for a takeaway coffee and pastry on their way to work usually chatted to Clint or Natasha, or stopped to greet a couple of regulars. To have two celebrities wander in off the street - and not just any celebrities but _superheroes_ \- just didn't make a damn bit of sense.

When the two men finally got to the front of the queue Natasha greeted them with the usual distant-but-friendly demeanour she reserved for new customers. James kept his head down, glad his hair hid his face from view. He could hear Ironman talking at a thousand miles an hour as he debated the menu while Captain America let out a long-suffering sigh and ordered a black americano in the biggest size possible. James felt relieved that even he wouldn’t be able to fuck that up, though his relief quickly disappeared when Ironman decided to order what was probably the most complicated thing on their menu – a decaffeinated pumpkin caramel mocha with oat milk and extra cream on top.

 _Ironman the hipster_ James signed to Natasha when she glanced over to check if he’d heard the order and she laughed out loud. Stark looked confused but Captain America was watching their interaction with interest and James flushed again, quickly turning back to the coffee machine. He vaguely listened to Stark as he paid for the two drinks, which seemed to require about five minutes of non-stop talking and feigned reluctance from Natasha over what she considered to be a too-generous tip. By the time the two men had moved down to the end James had their drinks ready on the counter. Not trusting that his voice would work right then he didn't say anything; they had taken so long to order that no one else was waiting anyway.

He was alarmed when Ironman practically threw himself round the end of the counter and grabbed James’s metal arm, talking excitedly. James froze, forcing himself to push down the training that threatened to rise up in him, the urge to flip the man into the nearest wall. There was no way he let himself attack bloody _Ironman_ at his work.

“Tony!” Captain America shouted, sounding as alarmed as James felt, but Tony Stark was still talking and now James realised he was raving about James’s arm and asking questions about it. Where had he got it and how much sensitivity did he have and could he move it as easily as a normal arm. There was no opportunity for James to answer these questions even if he could have and at some point Tony realised this because he suddenly shut up. James yanked his arm back firmly and Tony looked genuinely sad.

“I’m so sorry about him,” Captain America was saying. James looked over at him and oh god he had such amazing bright blue eyes. “He’s just excited about your arm. He's been working on a prototype for something similar. Hasn't stopped talking about it for weeks.”

“It’s okay,” James said quietly, surprising himself with his own voice.

“Oh, you _can_ speak!” said Tony, with no tact at all. “So what do you think? Will you let me take a look at it? I’ll give you anything you want if you’ll let me see figure out how it works, anything in the word. A jet? A penthouse? A date with Sexy Stevie here?” Both Steve and James went bright red at this last one.

Natasha appeared then and asked in her coldest voice why Tony was harassing her staff. James felt an overwhelming love for her and the way she spoke to Tony like she would to any other annoying customer. Tony held his hands up.

“Sorry, sorry. I just want to examine Terminator here's arm, but this probably isn't the time or place so I’m going to give him my card and he can contact me if he wants. Sound good?” He looked slightly nervous of Natasha.

James had thought it would affect him more to be casually called Terminator, considering that was what he would have become if Hydra had got their way, but something about Tony’s tone and the way he looked apologetically over his sunglasses made it hard to be annoyed for long.

“I’ll think about it,” he said reluctantly, since it was probably the fastest way out of this situation. He took the card Tony offered with his metal hand. As he watched the hand move Tony looked like he was going to die of excitement.

Captain America shot James a big smile that made him feel warm and fuzzy inside and apologised again, taking both their drinks and ushering his excitable friend towards the door. Tony walked out backwards making ‘call me’ gestures and winks to James as he watched in disbelief. Natasha snorted.

There weren’t any customers left at the counter and those sitting at the tables had gone back to what they were doing. Natasha turned to James with a ‘what the actual fuck’ gesture. James just shook his head in disbelief. This had to be the weirdest day ever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mention of past torture/amputation. Brief flashback of non-specific torture.

James spent the next few weeks getting up the courage to text the number on the ridiculously fancy card he’d been given.

TONY STARK

CEO, STARK INDUSTRIES

ENGINEER, ENTREPRENEUR AND ALL-ROUND GREAT GUY

He had copied the number into his phone as ‘Crazy Tony’. Though it was probably him who was crazy for even considering contacting the guy. He couldn’t think of anything worse or more anxiety-inducing than having his arm prodded and poked by someone. It was highly likely that it would remind him of being tortured and he had no idea how he might react. He didn’t trust himself. Hydra hadn't succeeded with their plan, but they had done a damn good job on him. He was a weapon.

But it wasn’t just anyone, it was _Ironman_ who would be examining him, which would be a hell of a lot safer than a normal person. Ironman could probably stop him if he lashed out and hopefully wouldn’t get injured, especially if James was restrained, which he fully intended to be.

The whole process would be unpleasant, but he was finally facing the necessity of needing to get the arm fixed. The malfunctioning seemed to be getting worse and if it broke, he would be completely screwed, weighed down by a useless hunk of metal.

Perhaps Stark would even be able to remove it altogether, if he couldn’t fix it.

James wondered how it would feel to lose the arm completely. Apart from a horrible recurring nightmare of a saw whirring and hideous screaming and glancing down foggily to see his arm gone, James had no idea what it was like to have nothing at all. But perhaps it would be better than having this monstrosity attached to him, drawing attention wherever he went and always reminding him of the horrors of his past. Perhaps he could even get a normal prosthetic, something that would pass at first glance, and people wouldn’t stare anymore.

Either way, Stark was probably the ideal person to help him. Perhaps the only person who could. Even after he'd escaped Hydra and returned home, he hadn't been fully open with anyone about what had happened to him. The army had interrogated him, of course, trying to find out if he'd learnt anything during his imprisonment, but he hadn't been able to speak at that point. They'd let him go, not realising he was potentially a threat, a weapon. They knew Hydra had experimented on him - they'd given him an amazingly advanced prosthetic arm - but no one had understood why. As far as he could understand from whispered conversations over his bedside while they thought he was unconscious, they'd assumed that it was something Hydra had tested on a prisoner first because they thought he might not survive and they didn't want to take that risk on one of their own. No one knew the full extent of his Winter Soldier training and abilities. And he would do anything to make sure they didn't. He couldn't bear to be a lab rat any longer.

So when the army released him, James had disappeared.

He didn't know if they'd looked for him, but with the first-rate spy skills Hydra had tortured into him he knew how to keep a low profile and had reached an understanding with Natasha that she would use his details sparingly - as rarely as possible - on company records and information. Having a proper job was a risk, but he couldn't spend his whole life hiding, especially since there probably wasn't anyone looking for him anyway. 

He had never been to a hospital or medical facility of any kind after his release, because he could never let anyone examine the metal arm, for their own safety as well as his. But Stark was his opportunity.

He did wonder if it was possible Stark would rat him out to the government, if by any chance they were still looking for him. But from what he'd heard about the man it was highly unlikely. Stark didn't like the goverment and pretty much everything linked with the man was privately owned by him. If he had a medical facility, it would be private and safe. This might be his only chance.

There was another reason he finally decided to message, but he wouldn’t let himself think properly about Captain America’s blue eyes and the strange surge of interest he’d felt from the moment he’d first seen him.

James:

_Hi Mr Stark, it’s James from the coffee shop. The guy with the metal arm._

It took him a long time to decide what to say, but ultimately decided he didn’t care if he sounded like an idiot. He had bigger things to worry about. After just a few minutes he got a long reply back.

Crazy Tony:

_Greetings, Bionic James! I have been on tenterhooks waiting for your reply. Have you considered my offer? I’ll have you know I’m a very rich man. Name anything and it’s yours, just for an afternoon examining that delicious contraption._

_PS._ _Your coffee was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted in my life and I’ve had Steve’s lasagne._

James couldn’t help laughing. The text sounded just like Stark’s voice. He felt a little pang at the mention of Steve. It was odd to think of him by his name, rather than as Captain America.

It was embarrassing really. Stark had joked about getting him a date with Steve without realising that James had never wanted anything more in his life. Obviously he wasn’t going to actually ask for that, and there was not a chance in hell that a date with Steve would ever work. For one, the man _had_ to be straight. He was Captain America, for fucks sake. And two, literally every one of James’s problems with dating/functioning/general life would be made even worse if he went on a date with someone so obscenely good-looking.

But he couldn’t resist the weird pang of hope. There was a chance he might see Steve again at some point if he went ahead and made the appointment with Stark.

James:

_I don’t need anything. The arm hasn’t been working too well so you’d be doing me a favour. However I have some conditions for if you are going to examine me._

Crazy Tony:

_Well well, now I’m intrigued. Do go on._

James:

_You need to restrain me during the examination and keep your Ironman suit easily accessible. In case you need to defend yourself._

There was a pause of several minutes before the next reply which was surprisingly understanding in its tone.

Crazy Tony:

_I can agree to those conditions. Usually I would ask why but I imagine it might be part of how you got the arm, and I think that story would be best in person. Would you be more comfortable with others present? Captain Perfect is rather famous for his bedside manner._

James was torn. He couldn’t deny that part of him wanted to see Steve again, but he definitely didn’t want to see him while he was restrained and possibly freaking out. Even just Steve seeing his arm properly - see its freakish power and recognising him for the weapon he was - would be humiliating.

James:

_I would prefer without others, if that’s ok._

Crazy Tony:

_No problem at all, Jamesy. How does Monday suit you?_

They agreed on Monday. James had work but Clint would be back by then and he knew Natasha would let him have it off if he told her he had a medical thing. She'd proably be over the moon, actually. They agreed James would come to the Avengers tower for 11am and Tony would meet him downstairs in the lobby so he didn’t have to deal with security.

James was terrified about the prospect of varying from his routine, but he knew it was time he pushed himself. Time to sort himself out.

He woke early on Monday, which gave him time to make sure he was clean-shaven, hair washed and generally presentable. He had made sure to wash all his clothes over the weekend and he tried not to overthink why he was pulling on his best jeans, a flattering button-up shirt and leather jacket just to lie on an examination table.

Checking himself in the mirror, he almost looked _good_. His face had lost the hunted, sharp look he’d had for months after escaping, now that he’d finally regained the weight he’d lost in captivity. Hydra had tried to keep him at a strong fighting weight when they were training him, but there was nothing like torture, imprisonment and mental instability to make the pounds drop off.

He was glad he’d tried to keep in shape during his recovery – though it had been for practical reasons rather than aesthetic ones, because his arm was heavy and increasing his upper-body strength helped support it - and he was pleased to discover that he looked broad and muscular now, even more so than back when he was in the army. Now his face had filled out more he looked older, but not in a bad way, he decided. Shame about the dark shadows under his eyes but there was nothing he could do about that. With his leather jacket and hair maybe he could pretend he was working the whole partying rock star thing. Ha.

He did like his hair, he decided. He had always kept it short before being captured, but by the end of his two years imprisonment it had reached jaw length and for some reason he’d kept it around that length ever since. It was kind of like the arm. Even though it had come from that horrific time and he’d had bad memories associated with it at the beginning, it was now starting to feel like _him_. He was working hard to reclaim those parts of him for himself.

Some things still couldn’t be reclaimed though. Like ‘Bucky’, the name he had gone by for his whole life, before. He preferred to be called James now. It helped him to think of himself as a new man, rather than constantly comparing him to the Bucky he used to be. The Bucky he'd lost and could never get back.

Despite dwelling on these thoughts, he still felt surprisingly good when he left the house at half past ten. He even felt relaxed as he made his way to Avengers tower through the busy city. It wasn’t far from where he lived or worked, but it was a different route than he was used to and on most days that would be enough to throw him into a panic. Today it felt interesting to actually look around at the landmarks and places he hadn’t seen for a long time. Probably not since he was a young man, before he joined the army.

Entering the lobby of Avengers tower, he felt mild stirrings of panic at all the security guards, but before he could worry there was a friendly face approaching and his heart jumped.

“Hi James,” said Steve Rogers with a big smile, stopping about a metre away. “I hope you don’t mind but Tony’s caught up in a phone call so he asked me to meet you.”

James found himself responding with his own smile and “that’s okay”. As usual he was surprised by how low and gravelly his voice was because he still didn’t use it very frequently.

He was baffled by the fact that Steve Rogers was looking at him and _blushing._ Wow _._ After smiling at each other like awkward idiots for a moment Steve seemed to pull himself together and took James to one of the private lifts. They didn’t speak again but James was comfortable in the silence and as the lift rose he kept feeling Steve’s eyes upon him. He supposed he looked a lot better than he had that day at the café, no greasy hair or scratched-up arm, at least.

When the lift stopped Steve politely gestured to James to get out first and he automatically shot Steve another smile in response.

Stepping out, he found himself in a penthouse that looked like something he had only seen in movies. There were huge windows with a view out over the whole city, white walls and a huge TV and just so much _space_ everywhere. Usually he’d probably be freaked out, feel exposed, but now he just felt slightly in awe. He knew Stark was very rich but it was different to actually see it. This was some fancy shit.

Steve had stepped over to the open-plan kitchen, leaning on the island bar with his shirt sleeves rolled up and looking like a film star. Jesus, he was even more attractive than James remembered. 

“Coffee? Tea?” asked Steve.

“Coffee would be great,” James said, looking in disbelief at the monstrous coffee machine on the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to make it yourself if you prefer,” Steve offered. “I'm sure you know your stuff more than I do, since you work in a café and all.”

James pulled a face in mock horror.

“I’m probably the worst barista in the city,” he laughed. “Natasha won’t let me near it unless they’re absolutely desperate. This wasn’t exactly designed with that in mind.” He waved his metal left hand vaguely, then immediately regretted bringing Steve’s attention to it. But Steve just glanced at it and laughed, not seeming weirded out by it. James supposed that Captain America had undergone a sort of body modification himself. Everyone knew the story of how small and ill Steve Rogers had been before he was given super soldier serum by the army back in WW2.

James knew the story better than most because Hydra had given him a lesser version of the same serum when they were experimenting on him. He wasn't the full super soldier that they'd hoped for, but in theory he was stronger, more durable than the average person. That was probably why he had survived the torture they’d put him through. It was probably how he’d managed to survive for two years and escape.

With an effort James pulled himself back in the present to find that Steve was saying something.

“Sorry?”

“I was just asking what you usually do at the café, if you don’t make the coffee?” Steve was still smiling but there was something sympathetic in his eyes, as if he understood what it was like to slip outside of yourself sometimes and need to be called back.

“I’m usually in the kitchen,” James said, leaning against the back of the sofa so he was still facing Steve. “I make the food… and the cakes and stuff sometimes.”

“So you’re a chef?” Steve was grinning now. “And a baker?”

“It’s just sandwiches and soup…” James admitted, “so I don’t think I can call myself a chef. But my cakes are pretty amazing.”

Steve laughed. “Okay, so you’re a baker! I’ll have to come back sometime and try those cakes.”

James smiled happily. Aside from Natasha and Clint, he had never had such easy interactions with someone – and even with those two, he’d probably only manage it signing. But Steve just treated him like a normal person and he kind of felt like that, for once. And it felt good.

“How do you like your coffee?” Steve asked. “And feel free to take a seat.” He nodded at the sofa James was leaning against. “I’m not sure how long Tony will be.”

“Just black is fine,” James responded.

“A man after my own heart,” Steve winked at him and something leapt in James’s chest. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining the flirty tone in Steve’s voice. He took a seat on the sofa to mask his confusion.

Steve brought over their drinks and sat on the sofa next to his and James racked his brain for conversation. How did normal people make small talk? Let alone make small talk with Captain America, who was probably the hottest guy he’d ever seen. He had spent so much time avoiding people he didn’t know how to act like a real person. Fortunately Steve seemed comfortable with the silence. After a few minutes he turned the radio on, fiddling until he got to a station that played music from the 1930s and 40s.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he looked at James almost shyly. “This was the music I grew up with. I can’t stand most of the new stuff. Can you believe there’s something called _grime_ music?” James laughed at how horrified he sounded.

“S’fine by me,” he said softly. He wanted to say something witty, carry on the back-and-forth, but words were getting less easy and he couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety as he found himself glancing at the lift. He felt his heartrate increase, his breathing speed up. Tony was going to come down any minute. Maybe he’d made a mistake. This was a terrible idea. How could he let someone pin him down and experiment on him again? Steve was saying something now but James couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything except the rush of panic in his ears as memories started to flood in like a dam had broken.

_The soldier was pinned to a table, restraints barely holding as he thrashed and snarled like an animal, metal arm aching as he strained to burst free from the leather straps which bore into his naked flesh. Suddenly he was hit across the face and he fell silent._

_"Soldier. Stop." That voice. The handler. He didn't even have to think about obeying; it was instinctive. He feared the punishment that he knew would come later._

_He lay back, and was aware of more restraints being pulled across him, reinforcing the metal arm. Then there was pain, concentrated in his torso at first then spreading down, out towards his limbs. He couldn't think of anything but the pain, he couldn't make a noise, he couldnt even see -_

“Hey,” Steve’s voice broke through his senses and so did the soothing music. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Focusing on Steve’s calm voice for a few minutes, James managed to push aside the panic, though it was quickly replaced by shame and embarrassment.

 _Sorry_ he signed frantically forcing himself to take regular breaths but still unable to meet Steve’s eyes. Steve was closer now, knelt on the floor in front of the sofa James was curled on.

“You’re okay,” Steve repeated. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

James suddenly noticed the gentle hand on his and jerked away before he could stop himself.

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologised, quickly leaning back to put some space between them.

James took another moment to breathe, eyes focused on his knees, before glancing up at Steve. He wanted to apologise again, to tell Steve he hadn’t done anything wrong, it wasn’t his fault. James was just messed up.

 _You sign?_ Was what he ended up asking.

“Kind of,” Steve said a little sheepishly. “I was partly deaf back when I was young, so I learnt then. It’s changed since back then but I started relearning last year. Seemed like a useful skill to keep up with. I’m better at understanding it than I am at actually using it.”

He was trying awkwardly to sign along with his words as he said them to emphasise this point. James couldn’t help the weird almost-laugh that escaped his mouth as he watched. He pulled himself to sit upright.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me,” Steve pretended to be upset, but James could tell he was relieved.

There was a pause as Steve sat back on the other sofa, picking up his coffee. As if sensing that James needed a minute to collect himself, he started to talk casually about how strange it was to go from living through the second world war to living in a ridiculous penthouse with someone as ridiculous as Tony Stark.

As if he heard his name, the elevator opened and Tony came charging out, talking as rapidly as usual.

“Can’t believe that went on so long, sorry I got caught up, I see Grandad’s entertaining you with his old-timey music you lucky thing, hope you’re as excited as I am about this whole situation -”

James tried to smile but it probably came out more of a grimace. He’d recovered from his panic attack but he hadn’t recovered his conviction that this was a good idea. Having a flashback about being restrained before he was even in there didn't bode well.

 _Can you ask if he’s still ok with the r-e-s-t-r-a-i-n-t-s,_ James signed to Steve, making sure to spell it out slowly. His words weren't back yet, which was pretty standard after a flashback. Steve translated this to Tony, who blinked but didn’t seem phased.

“Of course, Optimus Prime, but I’m thinking we might want Cap in there too if that’s alright with you. My ASL is pretty terrible. And by terrible I mean non-existent.”

James nodded reluctantly. This was definitely going to be awful. But there was no backing out now. He needed his arm fixed. And Steve had already seen him having a panic attack for literally no reason. It wasn’t like he could carry on pretending to be normal.

It was probably safer, anyway. If he went berserk, the combined forces of Ironman and Captain America would definitely be able to stop him. He didn’t need to worry that he would hurt someone.

Trying to keep that in mind, he followed Steve and Tony into the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve wasn’t sure why, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from James. The man moved so gracefully despite being almost as big as Steve himself; he stalked along the corridor after Tony like a big, majestic cat, with the familiar straight back and confident stance of a soldier. Steve had already guessed he had been in the army even before Tony had shown him the file he’d found. There was plenty of information on his upbringing, medical records and initial service in the army, but almost no information about Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes since he went M.I.A while serving in Afghanistan. He was missing for two years - presumably captured, though there was no information about who had captured him or why - then there was the date he had returned to American soil, but no explanation of how he had got back, and a notice of his discharge from the army a few months later on medical grounds. There was no detail of what these medical grounds were, and no medical records for him at all. It was all very mysterious. Since then, the only record of him was as an employee of the café where Tony and Steve had first seen him, and even that was hard to find. They couldn’t find his address anywhere.

It was pretty clear someone didn’t want James to be on record. Who was he?

Steve knew Tony was just as intrigued by James as he was, but his excitement was focused on the arm. He was practically vibrating with excitement as he led James into his workshop and gestured for him to sit in the comfy chair facing the desk.

Steve leant against the wall by the door, not wanting to be a distraction. He was still watching James as the man shrugged off his leather jacket. He looked so _good,_ had done when Steve had met him in the lobby, even more strikingly good looking than Steve remembered, with his sharp jaw and cheekbones, piercing grey-blue eyes and that amazing hair. He was nearly as tall as Steve but built more solidly and Steve felt a pang of lust at the idea that James wasn’t delicate like Steve’s previous partners had been. With them he’d always been aware of the massive physical difference between them, but with James… Although Steve knew his super serum made him a lot stronger, James’s build meant that he could imagine them as equals in the bedroom.

As soon as he caught himself going down this route he mentally berated himself. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex with a man he’d just met. It felt like a violation when he didn’t even know James, or anything really about him.

It had been a long, long time since Steve felt such an immediate attraction to someone, the first time in this century actually.

Steve had tried to make James feel at ease while they waited for Tony, tried his best to flirt a little but not enough to make James uncomfortable, or give away how strongly he felt. And then he’d watched James space out and start to shake, as if he was caught somewhere in his mind and he couldn’t get back, and a new feeling rose in Steve. It wasn’t pity, but it was sympathy and a desire – no, a _need_ \- to reassure him that everything was okay. He felt protective. He needed to help, he wanted to make James smile again.

He wasn’t stupid. James had obviously been through a lot. He’d been in the army, most likely been a prisoner-of-war, somehow he’d lost an arm – that much they knew. It wasn’t surprising he was having a panic attack, especially now he was _here_ , thrown out of his comfort zone into the bizarre world of Tony Stark.

Steve had done what he could to bring James out of it, remembering the relaxation techniques Sam had taught him back when he’d been getting panic attacks more regularly. He’d never been so relieved that he’d bothered to relearn sign language as he was in that moment, when it meant he could communicate with James. Then Tony came in and ruined the moment, as always.

As they walked to his laboratory Tony ran through the plan.

“So, I’m thinking today we’ll just take an initial look at the arm, take some scans of it to see what’s going on inside and then hopefully open it up and see if we can fix it. If we can’t do that right now, that’s okay, we’ll arrange to do that another time. Either way, I’ll have to ask you some questions about it afterwards, if you don’t mind. I realise it might be unpleasant to talk about but I’m going to need some kind of context here.”

James looked nervous but nodded. Steve fought the urge to take his hand and reassure him.

Once they entered Tony’s workshop it didn’t take long for all three of them to realise two fundamental problems. Firstly, James wouldn’t be able to sign while Tony worked on his left arm. Even if James knew how to sign one-handed, Steve would definitely struggle with translating. If he needed anything he would have to speak up.

James was faced with the second problem he went to push up his sleeves. He had worn a long-sleeved shirt and the sleeves were too tight over his metal arm for him to be able to roll them up.

“Yeah you’re going to have to take that shirt off,” Tony commented, as if it wasn’t a huge deal. James went red and Steve felt his own face light up too. James didn’t say anything but slowly began unbuttoning his shirt, as if he was trying to hide his nervousness. Steve found himself leaning forward and forced himself to stop. Honestly. He needed to get a handle on himself. His attraction to James was quite alarming. It wasn’t like he was getting a strip-tease from him – this was a medical examination.

James paused on the last button of his shirt, fingers hovering.

“I have scars,” he blurted out suddenly. His eyes met Steve’s across the room, anxiety evident in them.

Steve gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “We all do,” he said softly. Since the serum he actually didn’t have any on the outside anymore, but he sure as hell had them inside.

For once Tony didn’t say anything but pulled up his t-shirt to show James the arc reactor embedded in his chest, the terrible scarring around it which still looked as angry and red as the day it had happened. James’s eyes widened as he and Tony looked at each other with understanding.

He didn’t say anything else after that but undid the last button of his shirt and pulled it off.

Steve’s breath caught and James’s eyes flicked to his, with a hint of challenge. Steve didn’t back down, just kept looking at James’s body and whatever James saw on his face made his eyes widen with surprise and relief and… something else?

James without his shirt was a work of art, broad shoulders and firm chest, strong abdominals clear even beneath the soft layer of his stomach and vivid, painful-looking scars all over his left shoulder where the metal had been grafted to him… somehow. Even thinking about how painful that must have been didn’t detract from the arousal that rushed through Steve as he stared at James. He hoped his lust wasn’t clear on his face but James was flushed now, so it probably was.

Tony was looking too.

“Sweet Jesus Christ. Are you okay over there, Captain? Has James’s stripper bod short-circuited you?”

Steve wanted the floor to open up and swallow him, but he forced himself to roll his eyes as if Tony was joking. Tony just raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything. He had that smirk on his face that Steve had come to dread, an ‘I’ve just figured something out’ look. To Steve’s immense relief, Tony broke the tension by turning back to James. The chair James sat in had firm-looking restraints attached to the arms, made of some identifiable material.

“Are you sure about this?” Tony asked. James nodded.

Tony fastened the restraints around James's wrists. Steve was concerned for James, confused at why they were necessary, but he didn’t say anything.

Tony turned his attention to James’s arm, scanning up and down the arm slowly with some kind of handheld device as James held himself unnaturally still.

“Oh my god!” Tony exclaimed after a disarming pause, as he pulled up a cross section of the arm on a screen, rattling off his thoughts as quickly as they came. “I’ve never seen anything like this?! It’s just… insane. It must be so heavy. Is that why you’re so jacked??” he asked James with gleeful curiosity.

James didn’t say anything but glanced down at his body in embarrassment, unconsciously tensing his biceps as if he wanted to wrap his arms round himself. Steve felt a surge of interest in his trousers and quickly sat down in a chair to hide it.

“This type of metal is just… unreal,” rambled Tony, mainly to himself. “Nothing like what’s usually used on prosthetics. And these here...” he pointed at the diagram and Steve leant forward to look, rolling the swivel chair across the floor to avoid needing to stand up. “It’s wired right into your nerves. That’s why you can control it just like a normal arm.”

James flinched, metal fist clenching shut unconsciously. He was getting flashes, scraps of German conversation, voices explaining the arm to his handlers, explaining what it could do. Explaining how strong it was, how effective the asset would be once his training was complete. Explaining what a perfect weapon it was.

He forced himself to breathe out and relax the fist, forced his attention back to the room he was in and not to pull at the restraints. His eyes met Steve’s and he felt himself calm. Tony was still talking, apparently unaware of James’s reaction, but Steve had noticed, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. He signed _are you okay_ and James nodded.

As Tony began his examination of the arm, James fought hard against the memories that rose up with the sensation of his arm being tweaked and played with. It didn’t hurt, but he could feel the tools probing the inside of his arm and the intrusion was weird and kind of unpleasant. Tony kept up a constant stream of conversation - which was pretty standard for him, James had realised by now – and that was soothing, helped ground him. It helped that he was hearing an American voice rather than German or Russian. Steve occasionally commented too, checking in with James and asking how something felt, or responding to Tony and that helped too, brought him out of his memories when he started to slip away.

When Tony had finished he undid the restraints and James flexed the arm, testing. Whatever tweaks Tony had made to it seemed to have helped; it moved more smoothly than it had recently.

“Thank you,” he told Tony sincerely and Tony looked pleased. “You’re welcome.”

There was a slightly awkward pause as everyone realised the next bit wasn’t going to be pleasant – a conversation about how James had got the arm in the first place.

“I was a prisoner,” James blurted out before anyone could ask him anything. “I was on guard one night when there was an explosion. When I woke up I was a prisoner and my arm was gone. They -”

He cut off, voice choking. Tony and Steve watched him intently. Steve looked upset and Tony’s mouth was pressed into a hard line.

_They tortured me. For two years._ James signed and Steve translated it for Tony, clearly trying hard to keep his emotions in check. _At some point they attached this arm, I don’t remember when. They wanted to make me into a weapon. A soldier._

He stilled, unable to go on even with his fingertips as Steve echoed his words out loud. Suddenly he flinched at the feel of a hand over his, but it was just Steve. He squeezed James’s hand once before moving back.

“What did they do to try to make you a soldier?” Tony asked, looking like he felt terrible for having to ask this stuff.

_They trained me in combat and espionage. I was already a sniper; they mainly wanted me to be an assassin. There was a machine…_ James signed, wincing as he remembered the pain in his head. _It was supposed to wipe my memories. They taught me commands, I was meant to obey without thinking. T-r-i-g-g-e-r-s._ He spelt it out.

_If I disobeyed, they made sure I associated it with pain._ It was so weird to hear the horrors of his life spoken in Steve’s smooth voice.

“Who were they?” Tony leaned forward, his eyes eager and hungry.

James closed his eyes. _H-Y-D-R-A._

James didn’t see the shock on Tony and Steve’s faces, the looks they gave each other. He couldn’t believe he had told them everything so easily. He had spent so long running, keeping his identity a secret and now he had spilt everything to Tony Stark and Captain America, of all people.

He stood up abruptly and both Tony and Steve jumped. James felt like there were pins and needles all over his body, panic bristling under his skin.

“You don’t have to leave,” Tony said quickly, standing too. Steve looked like he wanted to touch James, but held himself back.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” James begged, shocking them all with his voice. “They discharged me from the army because they didn’t realise I was a weapon. If they find me they’ll lock me up.”

“No one will tell anyone anything,” Tony said firmly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not a big fan of the government. They like to make out that the Avengers work for them but actually we do our own thing. Your secret is safe with us.”

Steve nodded earnestly.

James let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. The panic was still there though. He had to get out.

“I do have to go.” He moved towards the door. “Thank you for fixing my arm.”

“Anytime,” said Tony, a serious look on his face. “I’d like to see you again James, if you don’t mind? There’s a lot more to look at with your arm and I think we could do with talking more, if you’re okay with that. SHIELD has been after HYDRA for a long time and we could really use any information you have.”

James blinked rapidly to keep out the dizzy blackness at the edges of his vision. He nodded.

Tony looked relieved. “Okay. I’ll text you next week to set up another appointment. Thank you, James.”

James nodded and walked quickly to the door. He avoided making eye contact with Steve.

When he stepped out into the corridor he barely made it a few steps before the rush of panic was almost blinding and he leant against the wall, breathing heavily. He pressed his metal hand to his eyes, enjoying the coldness as he forced himself to get his breathing under control, till he felt almost unnaturally calm.

“Can I walk you home?” A smooth voice asked. When James lifted his eyes from his hand he saw Steve standing there, unreasonably handsome, his face calm though there was something flashing in his eyes as he looked at James.

James breathed in a shuddering breath and nodded. Why the fuck not. It wasn’t like he had any dignity left to lose.

They began walking to the elevator at the end of the corridor in companionable silence. When the elevator doors open Steve indicated in a chivalrous way that James should go in first. “After you, James.”

James blushed as he stepped inside, then blurted out something he thought he would never say again.

“Actually you can call me Bucky.”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve kept up a friendly chatter as they left the building and by the time they were at the end of the road James was surprisingly relaxed and the cold panicky sensation was pretty much gone. He couldn’t believe he’d asked Steve to call him Bucky. He didn’t even think of himself as Bucky anymore.

But when Steve called him Bucky, just casually dropped it in as he spoke, it sounded _good_ and it sounded _right._

He’d stopped using it after he got back because it had made him feel like he was playing a part, like he was lying, pretending to be a normal person like Bucky Barnes had been. Pretending, but not succeeding. At least if he was James he was acknowledging that he was someone new and he wasn’t tying himself to the old Bucky for comparison.

But when Steve called him Bucky, he didn’t feel any of that. Maybe it was because Steve hadn’t known him before, so there was no risk of comparison. Maybe it was just that he finally felt free enough to lay claim to that name again – to take it back from Hydra. To fight back, even in that small way, like he hadn’t been able to for so long.

It turned out that Steve, like Bucky, lived in Brooklyn, where he’d grown up way back in the last century.

“I figured you lived in the tower,” Bucky commented, curious.

“No, Tony insisted I have an apartment there, but I couldn’t bear to live there all the time. Brooklyn’s my home, even if it’s changed a lot. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“I know what you mean,” Bucky said, tucking his hair behind his ear as they walked along the pavement. “I was only away for a few years and it’s changed so much in that time. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.” He wasn’t used to talking so much and was feeling kind of self-conscious. It didn’t help that Steve was so damn attractive.

“Did you grow up there too?” Steve asked.

“I was born in Indiana but we moved when I was a kid,” said Bucky. “My dad was from New York.”

He had forgotten whole sections of his life, thanks to Hydra, but most of his childhood memories were intact. He could still remember the cornfield behind their old house in Indiana, the swing seat he used to watch the sunset from.

“Do your parents still live there?” Steve asked.

Bucky tried not to think about his parents’ deaths. There were some memories he was actually glad to have lost. He remembered the bare facts, but nothing else. He couldn’t remember how he’d found out, or the details of what had happened, or even what he’d done after getting the terrible news, except for making the decision to join the army.

His memories of his parents from his childhood were happy and loving, and then they suddenly stopped. He didn’t remember grieving. But that didn’t lessen the ache whenever he remembered that they were gone.

“No… my parents died when I was sixteen. Car crash. I don’t have any other family. That’s kind of why I ended up joining the army.” He hadn’t meant to say that much, but Steve was looking at him with sympathy and kindness. Bucky let his hair drop over his face, not sure what expression he was wearing.

Then Steve took his hand, the metal one, and Bucky almost leapt in the air in shock because he could feel it, not just the usual slight pressure, he could properly feel it, just like his other hand.

“Sorry!” He apologised, realising he’d made them both jump. “It- I can _feel_ that!”

“Tony mentioned he’d made it more sensitive,” said Steve, smiling. “He wanted to make it as sensitive as your other one. I think he saw it as a personal challenge, actually. But he said he’d kept the pain receptors turned off, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Bucky nodded, embarrassed that he clearly hadn’t registered anything Tony had said. Steve was still holding his metal hand, one thumb stroking lightly across it. It gave him a weird feeling in his chest, a nervousness, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

Steve let go of his hand after a few moments and when Bucky glanced up from behind his curtain of hair he noticed Steve was blushing all over. Steve caught his eye and they both looked away in embarrassment.

The rest of the walk was comfortable and they continued chatting and occasionally exchanging shy glances. Bucky lived at the closest side of Brooklyn and Steve walked all the way to his door with him. It had been a long walk and Bucky couldn’t really work out why Steve had decided to accompany him, but it was definitely appreciated. Steve hovered awkward for a moment as if he wanted to say something else, but in the end he just told Bucky it had been nice to see him again.

“Thanks for walking with me,” Bucky said and Steve gave him yet another warm smile. Then he turned away and Bucky fished out his keys, smiling to himself.

The rest of the evening passed in a calm content that Bucky rarely experienced. He made himself a nicer meal than he usually bothered with and finished reading his current sci-fi paperback out on his tiny balcony. This was a big deal for him, because even though his balcony faced the back of the opposite building and no one could see him on it, he still found it hard to go out there on bad days. But today had definitely proven itself to be a good day. Whenever he thought back to earlier he felt proud of himself for confronting his fears and going to see Tony, and happy that Steve had wanted to get to know him, and had walked him home. He consciously didn’t let his mind wander any further, not daring to get his hopes up that Steve had meant anything particular or that he would want to see him again. He just let himself be content.

The next day at work Nat and Clint picked up on his good mood and were extremely suspicious. Once he’d done his usual baking and cooking for the café, he spent most of his shift making a particularly extravagant chocolate cake while listening to the radio, ignoring how often Nat and Clint peered in at him in shock. Clint interrogated him about his love life yet again and Bucky didn’t even give him the murder glare, though he didn’t give up any information either.

By the end of his shift Natasha had somehow figured out that he had been to see Tony the day before. Bucky wasn’t sure quite how she knew, perhaps it was just because his arm was working better. He didn’t deny it when she asked him about it, but he just smiled and shrugged when she pressed for details. When she asked if Steve had been there Bucky faltered and that was enough for a smug Cheshire-cat grin to form on Natasha’s face. Luckily she didn’t ask anything else and he was able to escape at the end of his shift with his privacy and reputation mostly intact.

The day after that, Wednesday, Bucky was having yet another good day and decided to make a cheesecake, which wasn’t something he’d ever made before, but he had wanted to try it out. His chocolate cake had sold very well yesterday and Nat was encouraging when he proposed trying out more new bakes alongside the standard stuff they offered.

He was covered in cream cheese and flour when Nat stuck her head through the swing door, looking even more smug than she had the previous day, and told Bucky he had a visitor.

Bucky’s heart raced as he quickly wiped his flesh hand on his apron before taking the apron off and pulling off the plastic glove that he wore to stop cake mix getting stuck in the grooves of his metal hand.

Who would come and see him at work? No one knew he worked there. Hell, he didn’t even know anyone else except Nat and Clint. And now Tony, he supposed, and… Steve.

Trying not to look nervous Bucky pushed open the swing door and walked out behind the counter. Steve was standing at the counter wearing a baseball cap and square-framed glasses and a baggy hoodie. Bucky couldn’t help laughing at how ridiculous he looked. As far as disguises went, it wasn’t remotely effective, but Bucky supposed it would probably save him from being recognised in just a passing glance.

“Are you laughing at me?” Steve demanded in a fake-offended look but he couldn’t hide his smile. Natasha and Clint were staring at the two of them in disbelief but Bucky ignored them and stepped right up to the counter.

“Er… hey,” Steve met his eyes a little bashfully. Bucky felt himself blushing.

“Hi,” he said. He fiddled nervously with a pen on the counter in front of him. He was pretty sure he could actually sense Natasha rolling her eyes at the other end of the counter.

“How’s your day going?” Steve asked, still maintaining eye contact whilst somehow looking even more bashful.

“It’s okay,” said Bucky softly. Steve’s eyes were bright blue but there were flecks of green in them too. “’M making cheesecake for the first time.”

Steve’s face lit up. “Wow! I love cheesecake. What flavour is it?”

“Raspberry and white chocolate,” said Bucky. He decided to be bold. “It’ll be ready in about half an hour. You could try some… if you’re staying around?”

Steve looked genuinely regretful. “I wish I could but I have to get back to the tower. I just came to ask… to see if you wanted…”

Steve trailed off and looked awkward. Bucky could see Clint jumping around with excitement out of the corner of his eye and was thankful Steve didn’t seem to have noticed. Bucky hoped Steve was trying to say what he thought he was. He found himself grinning in a flirty way and quirking an eyebrow as if daring Steve to carry on. Something about the gesture felt familiar, though he didn’t remember doing it before. Steve’s eyes widened.

“I wondered if you wanted to - to go out sometime. With me. Like… on a date.” Steve managed to stutter.

Bucky beamed.

“I’d love to,” Bucky said honestly. “I have work the rest of the week, how about at the weekend?”

Steve’s face fell. “Oh, I’m actually away this weekend on a mission.”

Before Bucky could speak again Natasha was suddenly there, rota in her hand.

“Bucky actually has the rest of the week off,” she said firmly, grinning at Steve.

Bucky frowned at her. “No I don’t.”

Natasha grabbed a thick black marker and pointedly crossed his name off the rota.

“Yes. You do. I’ve been begging you to take holiday since you started, James. And now you have a very good reason to.” She winked at Bucky and backed off, leaving Bucky feeling relieved and slightly embarrassed.

Steve looked thrilled. “How about dinner tomorrow evening?” he suggested.

“That sounds great,” said Bucky honestly and they smiled at each other for another moment. They swapped numbers and decided Steve would pick Bucky up at his flat at 7.30.

After Steve had gone, Bucky tried to go back into the kitchen but Clint and Natasha swooped in.

“What the hell, man?” Clint demanded. “You didn’t even tell me you liked guys and then Captain America just turns up and asks you out! Captain America! You can’t just spring this on a guy?!”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh, relieved that Clint looked genuinely happy for him despite his teasing. Natasha was staring at him with her typical assessing stare, but he could tell she was pleased too. As for Bucky, he felt he was riding a high of exhilaration he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He could barely even believe it was real.

Steve and Bucky texted back and forth the next day, mainly to arrange their plans for that evening but also chatting about their days off. Bucky had done his groceries and spent the day baking in his flat. He knew he was bringing his work home with him by doing so but he was unable to imagine not baking for the next four days and wanted to practice some new ideas to try out in the cafe. He also spent some time on the balcony reading and drinking coffee. It was a perfect day for him.

Steve said he’d been for a run and to the gym then spent the day cleaning his flat. He realised how boring it was and got kind of embarrassed, which Bucky thought was sweet. Bucky didn’t think it was boring to enjoy doing normal things, and he told Steve that. When he’d first got back it had taken him a long time to build himself up to doing even the most basic things, and he got a kind of pleasure even now in the knowledge that he could do things like wash up and keep his flat clean. He wished he could explain that and wondered if it was the same for Steve. But it wasn’t something he could say to another person, especially over text.

He left a good hour to pick out an outfit and he was glad he had. He had plenty of black t-shirts and long-sleeved tops and a few pairs of not-too-scruffy-but-definitely-not-nice black jeans for work, but he couldn’t wear them for a date. Steve had mentioned the restaurant was ‘smart casual’ (and then commiserated with him over how frustrating a dress code that was) so he dug through his cupboard for some nicer shirts and trousers he’d stowed in there. He’d bought them back when he first moved in and was trying to learn to be a person again. In the end he’d never actually worn them because it turned out going out and doing things had been a lot harder than he’d ever imagined.

It soon became apparent that Bucky was now a lot bigger than he had been when he first got back. The shirts strained obscenely across his broad chest and shoulders and the buttons wouldn’t do up at all. The trousers were worse, getting stuck halfway up his thighs. Bucky tried not to freak out. He peeled the offending clothes off and stood looking at himself in the mirror. How had he thought they would fit? He looked completely different than he had when he first got back, after being starved and tortured. He was healthy now and kind of huge. He hadn’t thought much about his body till recently; he'd felt kind of disconnected from it after what he’d gone through. He vaguely remembered it being something he thought about when he was young, when he had been conscious of people finding him attractive. He wondered now what Steve would think of his body.

He didn’t think he looked bad - apart from the scars, obviously, but in some ways it was a relief that Steve had already seen those. He just hoped Steve was into big guys. His muscle was reinforced with fat so he didn’t look toned like he suspected Steve probably did; he just looked huge and strong. His stomach was softer than he would like it to be, abs now hidden under a pillowy layer. He tried unsuccessfully to suck it in.

Oh god, he was really freaking out now. He was too big for all his clothes and Steve would be there in less than an hour.

Suddenly the doorbell rang and he froze. Oh my god. Steve was early. What the fuck was he going to do?

He yanked one of his work t-shirts and jeans on as the doorbell rang again. Oh god oh god. He was going to have to tell Steve he couldn’t come for dinner because he had nothing to wear. He checked his face and hair quickly in the mirror then went to the door.

It was Natasha. He’d never been so relieved in his life. He had no idea how she had known he needed her right now. She thrust a plastic bag at him and when he looked inside he saw that it contained a dark red shirt and smart dark grey trousers. He could have kissed her.

“Had a feeling you might not have anything for the occasion,” said Nat.

“How did you know what the occasion was?” Bucky asked as he ushered her in and closed the door behind her.

“I just had a feeling he’d pick somewhere fancy but not too fancy,” Nat replied. “Figured he’d want to impress but not intimidate.”

“Huh.” Bucky retreated to the bedroom to change. The shirt and trousers were really flattering and fit him perfectly. He spun around, admiring. He had another faint memory of dressing up like this and going dancing when he was younger. He pulled on some smart black shoes he’d found in the cupboard.

“How did you know my size?” he asked Nat as he emerged from the bedroom.

She wolf whistled and he blushed.

“I just guessed, I’ve got a good eye,” she said. “And the clothes you wear for work are practically skin-tight, Barnes. Had plenty of chance to observe.” She winked. Bucky went bright red.

“Well thank you for the clothes. Let me know how much you spent and I’ll pay you back. You’ve honestly saved my life. I was all ready to cancel my date,” he admitted.

Nat looked genuinely alarmed at that idea. “Well I'm glad you don't have to. Believe me when I say this, James - you deserve this. I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who deserves happiness as much as you do. I’ve never seen you light up with anyone like you did with him. Actually I’ve barely even seen you talk to anyone, ever.”

They both laughed at this. Bucky gave Nat a quick squeeze of the shoulder with his flesh hand and smiled. He knew she understood how much it meant, both what she’d done for him and what she’d said.

Suddenly the doorbell rang again. It was quarter past seven.

“He’s early,” said Bucky.

“You’ll be fine,” said Natasha. “Just be yourself.”

Bucky smiled.

He grabbed his leather jacket and pulled it on.

“This look alright?” he asked. It wasn’t smart but he’d only be wearing it to get there. 

Natasha grinned. “You look sexy as hell, Barnes. Now go and enjoy yourself. I’ll let myself out. Go out there and get your man.”


End file.
